


Afterburn

by Fistful_of_Gamma_Rays



Series: Wandering Stars [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Post-Episode: s04e06 A New Defender, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22109152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fistful_of_Gamma_Rays/pseuds/Fistful_of_Gamma_Rays
Summary: He survives Naxzela.
Series: Wandering Stars [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681486
Comments: 14
Kudos: 125





	Afterburn

He hauls up on the yoke and feels the craft belly out against the rush of atmosphere and debris as the nose of the cruiser disintegrates. He has to roll hard left to spin out from under a sheet of the hull and then he’s yawed himself free into open space. 

Dimly, he realizes Matt is still yelling at him over the comms.

“-eith! Keith! Are you-”

“Wasn’t me,” he gets out. “Someone else got it.” And then he kills the frequency.

* * *

Kolivan is waiting for him when he sets the fighter back down on the ground. He looks about as casual as Kolivan ever looks, at an easy parade rest in the lee of the building, but he is unmistakably between him and the door.

He does not want to have this conversation now. Not while he can’t get his hands to stop shaking.

But there’s nothing for it, so he drops out of the hatch and heads for the entrance, hands fisted at his sides.

“Keith.”

“Sir.” 

Kolivan is giving him one of those frank, assessing stares that usually precede a reminder on unnecessary risk. “I saw what you did out there.”

He snaps back before he can help himself. He’s not up for this conversation at all. There’s a sick pit in the back of his stomach and he knows he’s making it worse, but he can’t stop himself. “I don’t need a lecture. They had us right where they wanted and I couldn’t think of anything else that would have worked.” He meets Kolivan’s eyes. “I’d do it again.”

As soon as he says it, he’s absolutely sure. Yes, he’d do it again. His heartbeat is suddenly overwhelmingly loud.

Kolivan blinks and something in his expression shifts subtly. “I didn’t say it was the wrong call,” he says after a moment. “In your place, I might have done the same.”

That knocks the breath out of him, hauls him up short. He’s left blinking dumbly up at Kolivan, fighting to keep his hands steady. Kolivan inspects him, still holding that same assessing expression. “It is a terrible choice to have to make.” He pauses deliberately, makes sure Keith is focused on him. “I'm glad you did not have to carry it through to the end.”

He should probably say something to that, but his head’s just a knot of white noise and he can’t find any words.

Kolivan eyes him and sighs. “Get to the commissary. Eat something, or drink something if you can’t eat. Ilun knows you’re coming. She’ll find you if you don’t show.”

He manages a faint snort at that. Kolivan’s eyes narrow. “You’re off the mission roster for the next two movements.”

He can feel his jaw clench. “Sir.” He gathers himself and starts for the door. Kolivan’s hand falling heavily onto his shoulder is such a shock that he stops dead in his tracks.

“Keith.” Kolivan stares down at him. “That’s not a punishment. I’d give any agent who walked away from a choice like that the same orders.” He looks suddenly very tired. “Get some rest.” The hand on his shoulder squeezes gently.

He swallows, finds his voice. “Yeah. All right.”

* * *

Ilun bullies him into a seat at one of the commissary tables with a tray of reheated rations and a pack of water. He pushes the food around on the tray for a while, but can’t bring himself to eat anything. He’s grateful for the water, though. When he finishes the first pack, Ilun wordlessly thumps a second one down in front of him. Somewhere midway through it, his hands finally stop shaking.

There’s a thin but steady stream of off-duty blades passing through the commissary. Nobody’s talking much, but Haruk gives him a tired wave from across the room, and Vrek and Iria sit down at his table and push around the contents of their own trays for a while. He tries to focus on the small, ordinary sounds of people eating and moving around, but his thoughts keep circling back to how easy it had been once he’d made the decision. Just a matter of letting his hands shove the sticks forward before his brain caught up to them.

He takes another swallow of water. It doesn’t completely quell the nausea, but it helps.

Ilun swoops down on him and grabs the untouched tray when he’s finished the second pack. He blinks groggily at her.

“Thanks.”

“Your face is making me tired, kid. Go to bed.”

* * *

He doesn’t dream that he remembers, but he wakes up with his nails clenched into his palms and his heart pounding. Still, he feels… better. More present. 

He has eleven missed calls, which is more than his official-business-only communicator should get. Most of them are from Matt. They’re probably not official business.

He guesses he owes him an apology.

* * *

“Matt.”

“Keith!”

He’s not sure what schedule Olia’s group follows, but Matt’s disheveled and unshaven, blinking rapidly in a dark room. He winces. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Never mind that. Holy shit. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He pauses uncomfortably. “Sorry for killing the comms back there.”

“Sorry for-” Matt squints at him. “That’s what you’re apologizing for? Killing the comms?” His voice rises and Keith flinches back a little. “You were about to kamikaze yourself into that shield and you’re apologizing for killing the comms? What the fuck, Keith? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” he bites out. “We would have all been dead. The Blade would have been dead, the Rebellion would have been dead, Voltron would have been dead. I couldn’t just let that happen.”

“So your solution was to throw yourself at it? What makes you think it would have even worked?”

“Was going to drop the safeties on the engine core before I hit,” he admits. He’d had his thumb on the trigger. If he’d pressed it, he’d have been dead before impact.

Matt stares at him. “Jesus christ, Keith.”

He draws a breath. “Look. The Empire could have crushed all of us right there and been back to where they started. I’m just one person. If it meant everyone else got out, I’d make that choice again.” 

For a second, he can almost feel the sticks in his hands again. He clenches the hand not holding the communicator until he can feel the bite of his nails and keeps his eyes on the screen. He’s still sure of it.

“I’m not going to apologize for that.”

Matt’s wearing a tight, pinched expression that he can’t read in the slightest. Finally, he exhales and swallows. “Yeah. Okay. I get it. The mission first. The needs of the many over the wishes of the few. I get it. But I’m not going to be okay with it. I thought I was going to watch you die. I thought I was going to watch you die and then have to tell Shiro and Katie about it.”

He shifts uncomfortably and fights the urge to look away from the screen. “I made it out.”

“Yeah. This time.”

Keith loses the fight and stares at the pile of tablets on the desk. He can’t exactly argue that.

It’s a few seconds before Matt speaks again. He sounds tired when he does. “All right. Just… promise you’ll try not to do that. For the sake of the rest of us, okay? Not all of us are cut out for the Galra warrior cult lifestyle.”

He finds himself vaguely offended on behalf of the Blade. “It’s not a warrior cult. It’s a black ops organization.”

“Jesus christ, Keith,” Matt says again. “Come on. Promise.”

“I’ll try to avoid it.”

Matt breathes out. “Good.”

There’s quiet for a moment, and then a thought strikes him. “You didn’t, right? Tell Shiro and Pidge?”

Something passes over Matt’s face, but it’s gone almost instantly. “No. I didn’t. And I won’t. But I think you should.”

Slowly, he feels his shoulders unhitch. “Not much point. It’s over. They don’t need to know.”

Matt sighs. “Your-” again, that flicker of something odd over his face. “Your decision.” There’s another short silence. “Call them, at least. I know the Blade takes security seriously, but we’ve got routes of communication we control now. You can make some personal calls. Katie misses you, you know?”

He has to blink hard at the tiny, suffocating dart of warmth in his chest and the overwhelming memory of Pidge and her fierce, snappy presence. And then it’s as if that’s opened the floodgates, and he’s thinking about Shiro’s quiet, solid assurance, and Hunk’s gentle sensibility, and Lance’s prickly, sharp-eyed concern, and Allura’s poise hiding a core of steel, and Coran’s determined kindness, all of them almost tangible in the dim light of the bunk.

“I-” he swallows. “Yeah. I can do that. I miss her too.” 

There’s a muffled beep on Matt’s end and the lights flicker on. He squints blearily at something off-screen. “Damn it. That’s my shift.” He turns back to the screen. “Look, are you going to be okay?”

He blinks, startled. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. Go do your shift.”

There’s a second of hesitation where he thinks Matt’s going to say something more, but it passes. “All right.” Another pause. “Take care of yourself, Keith.”

“You too.”

The call cuts, and he’s left in the half-dark of an unfamiliar bunk in a base that belonged to the Empire two quintants ago. There’s a prick of warmth in his chest and a cold certainty like a stone in his stomach and the ghosts of the sticks of the fighter in his hands. Belatedly, he opens his fist and rubs at the dents in the meat of his palm, smoothing them out to a dull, bruised ache. He takes one last, long breath.

“All right.”

He pulls himself off the bunk and goes to ask Ilun about making a call.


End file.
